


Devil's Backbone

by LolitaBlue



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Blood, Hands, Hunters & Hunting, Implied Relationships, Implied Sexual Content, Kissing, M/M, Sam's got an obsession with Dean's hands
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-05-02
Updated: 2017-05-02
Packaged: 2018-10-26 19:04:10
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,200
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10792869
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/LolitaBlue/pseuds/LolitaBlue
Summary: Sam keeps noticing things about Dean's hands and it makes him feel a bunch of different things.***this is just a teeny little wincest thing that popped in my brain my dudes lol





	Devil's Backbone

**Author's Note:**

> so i wrote this in like 20 mins in the middle of the night last night after a super weird dream i had about Dean's hands *cough* by weird i mean sorta smutty *cough*
> 
> if you couldn't tell by the title, it's also influenced by the song Devil's Backbone by the Civil Wars...been obsessed with that lately

Sam was sixteen the first time he realized what Dean was capable of.

Moody and miserable, he'd been forced to tag along on another hunt, sulking in the back while Dean paraded about as if he was the predator, and the monsters were the prey. There was a certain spring in his bow-legged step that Sam had never noticed before, and it was terrifying how easily he braced the machete over his shoulder. Despite the fact that Dean's posture was tense, muscles tightening in preparation to pounce, there was absolutely no mistaking the fact that he was disturbingly, unflinchingly at ease. With Sam to his back, John to his front, and the imminent threat of death hanging over his head, this was where Dean felt the most comfortable. He taunted and teased, drew the leeches out of hiding and brought them into the light, smiled as he decapitated them, laughed when presented with what the vampires thought was a challenge. John was supposed to be the expert here, and yet he was just an aid to Dean's skillful performance. Sam barely had to do anything other than swing his axe here and there to create a momentary distraction before Dean went in for the kill.

By the end of it all, Dean was stood in the middle of the massacre, rolling heads and bloodied corpses scattering the floor around him. At twenty years old, he had almost single-handedly taken out an entire nest of vampires. John was beyond delighted, laughing heartily and clapping Dean on the back, promising his eldest son all the beer in the world. Dean basked in the praise, all cockiness and self-satisfied grins, glancing over at Sam every few seconds to seek his approval. Sam did his best to smile, understanding that this was an important moment for Dean, as John rarely expressed pride in his boys, but the gravity of the situation was making his head spin.

Dean Winchester was lethal.

Sure, Sam had always known this to be true and had seen Dean in action plenty of times, but none of that compared to this moment. Corpses everywhere, weapon in hand, blood dripping down speckled cheeks, onto full lips. The same lips that have kissed Sam with such tenderness, it was hard to see them curled into a deviant smirk, smeared with the thick red substance.

John let Dean drive on the way back to the motel, and the two of them relived the hunt through animated conversation and playful jests. _I'm getting better than you now, old man, you gotta step up your game._

Sam sat quietly in the back seat, long legs tucked close to his body, chin resting on his knees. He tried to say something, and wished that he was capable of loving this life as much as his family did (Sam was so fucking tired of always being the freak) but he couldn't get over Dean's hands. His right one loosely gripped the wheel, while the left one hung casually out the window. They were still Dean's hands, still the same fingers that trace Sam's skin with a sort of reverence, but right now they were sticky and red.  They didn't look rough, like usual, they looked wrong. Unable to pinpoint the real source of his discomfort, Sam fell asleep, shaken and queasy.

\----

Two months later, John was gone. He said he had his own business to handle somewhere else, so he left Sam and Dean alone to handle the Wendigo who had been feeding on people that wandered into the woods. Unfortunately for the Winchesters, it'd managed to get its claws on Sam before they finally killed it.

As of now, they were sat on the edge of the motel bed, Sam shirtless and bleeding, Dean cursing up a storm. Dean began patching up his little brother with thinly-veiled fury boiling to the surface.

"Gonna go back there and kill that bastard all over again," Dean hissed through gritted teeth, "Shoulda made it suffer for what it did to you."

"I told you I'm fine," Sam insisted, trying not to flinch when Dean poured more peroxide over his wounds.

"Says the boy who won't be able to move his shoulder for the next four days," Dean scoffed. Sam didn't argue. The thing had got him good, and anytime he tried raising his right arm, it started to burn and would pull uncomfortably on the stitches Dean was sewing. Thankfully, the cuts weren't deep enough to hit anything of major importance and Dean managed to fix it pretty quickly.

"You're gonna have a nasty set of scars once those get done healing," Dean told him.

Sam shrugged, then winced when he realized the mistake he'd made. "S'okay. I'm sure they'll be a hit with the ladies," he teased.

Dean glared at his hands in his lap. Sam was looking at them, too. They were bloody again, like they'd been after the vamps nest, but this time it was Sam's blood coating Dean's fingers. They weren't steady on the wheel anymore, either, they shook with the thought of Sam being injured.

"You can't do that to me, Sammy," Dean whispered, "You can't get hurt again."

"It's going to happen, Dean," Sam said softly, "You can't always be the monsters' punching bag."

"I can if it means you're okay."

Sam sighed. Dean was still tense and shivering, no doubt reprimanding himself for all the ways he'd "messed up" and gotten Sam hurt, placing all the blame on his own shoulders. Leaning across to close the gap between their mouths, Sam tried to kiss Dean's worries away. What was intended to be soft and sweet quickly turned desperate, clutching each other's faces, gripping each other's thighs. Somehow, Sam found himself straddling Dean's lap, hastily pushing at the torn up clothes covering his brother's body.

"Easy, tiger," Dean murmured, always the protector, "Watch that shoulder."

Sam tried to listen, he really did, but when clothes started coming off, he couldn't feel anything but the desperate, needy want for his brother in his chest.

That night, after countless orgasms and overwhelming feelings of bliss, Sam lay heavy against Dean's chest. His lanky body was tangled in freckled limbs, eyes drooping closed while Dean stroked his spine soothingly. All the terrifying thoughts Sam had those few months ago, when he finally realized Dean was a hunter, a killer, capable of slaughtering whatever he pleased, melted away. The hands caressing Sam's back weren't capable of doing anything but good. Dean would never kill an innocent. He'd never take unnecessary violent action against someone who wasn't deserving of it, not when he chose to use those hands to keep Sam safe. Dean felt so much like home, like goodness, like security, that Sam wondered how he could have ever been afraid of what was lurking below the surface.

But if it ever came down to it, if Dean ever became something darker than the light that came pouring through his soul, Sam knew he wouldn't give a damn. Good or bad, guilty or innocent, evil or not, Dean was the only thing Sam's ever known.

And he planned to hold on to him any way he could.

**Author's Note:**

> thx for reading, make sure to check out the J2 fic i've been working on too :)


End file.
